


Twisted Bonds

by delusioninabox



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Asexual Character, Bisexual Character, Blood and Violence, Childhood Friends, Con Artists, Denial of Feelings, Elemental Magic, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Fantasy, Gay Character, Gen, Lesbian Character, Light Angst, Magic, Revenge, Revolution, Royalty, Some Humor, Swordfighting, Swords & Sorcery, bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delusioninabox/pseuds/delusioninabox
Summary: Faramund, Guardian of Celeibra's prince Alcaeus, only cares about two things: keeping his prince safe and following the rules. With Alcaeus' rule in jeopardy, a bumbling mage failing at spying seems the least of his problems -- at least until the mage accidentally gets Faramund caught in his escape attempt gone wrong. With no way back other than a truce with the offending mage Decebal, following the rules just got a lot harder.Ex-princess Channary meanwhile wants her kingdom back from the Celeibran prince and is willing to do anything to reclaim it. Just one problem: an impostor is doing the exact same thing -- and a way better job of it.
Kudos: 2





	1. Cover & Notes

**A note on the tags:**

Most of the cast is some form of LGTBQIA, but while there _will_ be romance elements, it's not the main focus. Gotta get past the "enemies to friends" part first, I'm afraid. :')

**General notes:**

Will be updating here once a week. The first draft of this story is complete; this is the second draft as I finish edits, which I'm sharing in hopes of keeping my motivation up. Editing is always where I struggle to get through without giving up! Final chapter count may change though since I have some edits planned for this draft that may impact it.


	2. Chapter 1

# I

Centuries passed and still not much had changed. Different humans, new orders, but always the same rules to follow. Humans were fickle, changeable, and impossible to trust — but rules were not. Rules were reliable. Faramund stopped in the hallway, beside one particular door. It was still the original wood of the castle, carved out of the largest tree across the continent. It hadn’t perished in the flames of their conquest. The humans had started on this wall to replace it with classic Celeibran architecture. But in its unfinished state, even the stone appeared afraid to breach the room.

He glanced forward. He shouldn’t enter. Not today. There wasn’t time.

A meow from inside compelled him.

He snuck inside and closed the door behind him without a sound. The bedroom was dark, the only light from the single window and the rising sun. The cat blocked the light’s intrusion into the room, tail flickering back and forth. Faramund strode past the familiar layout. Childish drawings lay cast across the small table, awaiting its artist to return. The bed was as unmade as it had been that last morning. Dust danced in the air. Cobwebs settled in corners. Caught between the past and present, the room was as familiar as it was unsettling. Faramund reached a hand for the gray striped tabby. Its green eyes shone bright despite the dark.

“He’s not coming back,” he whispered, petting the side of the cat’s face. “Your siblings already realized that. Why haven’t you?” The cat purred, nuzzling her head into his palm. “You’ll get me in trouble one of these days.” His hand moved to rub behind her ears. She meowed and gazed upwards, eying him hopefully. He raised a brow and said, “Of course I didn’t forget.” Faramund reached under his cloak for the pouch strung to his belt. The cat stood to attention as soon as he pulled free the bundled cloth, leaning her whole body closer. He pulled the small bundle away so he could open it, which she protested with eager cries. Once he lay the cloth open on the ledge beside her, she leapt to reach the meat chunks inside. She devoured it all.

“I’m only feeding you so you stop leaving mice in this room,” he said. “You know that, right?” She ignored him, still chomping up every bit of meat. He sighed and ran a hand across her back. She paused to arch her back with the moment and gave a thankful mew. “I’ll be back later.” He’d wasted enough time. Being late would break at least two rules.

Faramund’s gaze flickered down both ends of the hall before sneaking back out. Still empty, as expected. Even the staff avoided this route. He continued on his routine path. A few steps in, he stopped once again. He spun around and narrowed his eyes.

The cat was following him.

He waved a hand back to the room and mumbled, “You can’t be here. Go back.” She remained unmoved. He tried gesturing with both hands. “Shoo!” Her tail twitched as she lowered her body. She wasn’t going to jump on him, was she? He winced and shuffled back. Harsh footsteps echoed into the hall from behind him.

“Faramund, where the hell are you?!”

 _Alcaeus! Crap!_ Faramund bent down and scooped up the cat, pulling her beneath his cape. He held her close in both arms. She mewed in appreciation. “Shh!” he hissed. Faramund whirled around, coming face-to-face with Alcaeus’ approach. His boots pounded the floor with each step. Faramund bowed his head and said, “Apologies, my majesty.”

The prince’s finest glare was already in place. “You’re supposed to be getting _me_ in the morning,” Alcaeus said, crossing his arms. “Not the other way around.”

Faramund bowed deeper. “My sincerest apologies.” A tiny mew sang out from under his cloak as the cat nuzzled her face into his arm. Faramund froze. She was small. Perhaps Alcaeus hadn’t heard.

Al threw both hands into the air. “Alright,” he said. “What are you hiding?”

“Secret,” Faramund answered, meeting Al’s eyes.

“That better be the name of the damn cat and not you being a smart ass.” Faramund nodded, but didn’t say which it was. Al added, “Put it back. We don’t have time for this.” Faramund freed Secret from his cloak. Alcaeus’ gaze fell on her for only a moment before he turned away. Did he recognize her? Faramund didn’t dare ask. That’d be against another rule. He stepped back to the door and opened it only a fraction. Secret stare as he set her down inside. Despite his last quick pats, she protested when he shut the door again with her inside. Faramund glanced to Alcaeus, expecting him to say something. Anything. About the room. About Iason.

But he said nothing. Alcaeus nodded his head to the left and strode off, leaving Faramund to scramble up and follow.

“Father’s adviser is enough of an animal for the whole castle,” Alcaeus grumbled. “Do we really need another one?”

“Cats are effective at catching vermin.” She was already, but he doubted Alcaeus cared to know that.

Al snorted and replied, “We don’t _have_ a vermin problem. Or are you counting Leon?”

“She may grow big enough to take him.”

Alcaeus smirked. “You are a smart ass. Keep it to yourself today.” Faramund accompanied Alcaeus with care. Never ahead, never at his side, but always perfectly placed close behind. A rule he’d mastered long ago. Alcaeus glanced back over his shoulder. “If father sent Leon here, we have problems.” Not a question, so Faramund stayed silent. Another rule. With a shrug Al added, “Still, better him than Ambrosia.” Faramund agreed there.

He mentally noted every servant and soldier they passed. Another human rule: cease all work, bow, and eyes on the floor when royalty passes. Occasionally one dared to glance up. Those were moments Faramund checked for. Fear was fine. Most humans feared him, if not Alcaeus. Fear was what Celeibra craved. Anything else — anger or indifference — was worth casting suspicion. Today only one peered upon them, a native Nelucian maid. Her eyes widened and darted away as soon as his gaze pierced hers.

Afraid. A correct reaction, though it never put Faramund at ease.

Alcaeus ignored the guards posted at the door, giving them no time to open the council room doors. He strode past and threw them open himself. The room had no windows as it was in the tree’s center. Celebrian tapestries hid the original Nelucian artwork painted on the walls. Each illustrated a different country’s conquest. Their empire’s symbol and colors highlighted the chair with the tallest back. Each of Alcaeus’ council stood from their place at the round table and bowed. Their Guardians, each standing behind their respective bonded human, bowed as well. Three earth Guardians and three water. The majority of the country’s Guardians all stood in this room. As it had always been, Faramund remained the only one of fire.

“Sit,” Alcaeus commanded, claiming his place. Faramund clasped his hands behind his back and stood firm behind him. As still as a piece of furniture, as another rule mandated. Each member sat in unison as the guards closed the doors. The firm thud reverberated in the close quarters. Alcaeus clasped his hands in front of him and narrowed his eyes. “Welcome back to our newest state, Leon. I hope your journey here wasn’t difficult.”

Leon laughed and said, “You get over teleportation sickness when you travel as much as I do.” Faramund remained frozen, but his eyes surveyed the man’s Guardian, Osmand. They had met before, briefly. His hair was dark striking blue that outlined the pale skin of his face. Unlike Faramund’s bright markings that contrasted his dark skin, Osmand’s were subtle. A gentler like blue that ebbed and flowed across his face in time with his breath. It had been a long time since Faramund had conversed with another Guardian. It was a waste of time.

“Indeed.” Alcaeus nodded to the woman at his right, Elena. “Report.”

“Your majesty,” she began, inclining her head. “We’ve received reports that the Nelucian princess lives and is trying to begin an uprising amongst the people.” Alcaeus’ shoulders tensed. The woman flashed a glance at Leon, hesitating. After a beat where Alcaeus did not intervene, she added, “She seems to still have her Guardian as well.”

“One girl and _one_ Guardian is hardly a threat,” Alcaeus said. “We each have one in this room, our finest soldiers have one, and an army of mages. An inconvenience at best.”

“My prince,” Leon began. Alcaeus narrowed his eyes. Leon leaned forward, smiling. “Were you not the one who decided to let her live after she escaped the initial takeover? I hope you now realize the benefit of hindsight. Problems should be eliminated as early as they arise.”

Alcaeus maintained eye contact. “Your comments are noted,” he said. “But she was a child. Not a concern then, nor one now.” Leon said nothing. They stared at each other in silence.

Leon wet his lips and replied, “You seem to like straightforwardness, so I will be frank, prince.” He crossed his arms across the table. “Your father is concerned about your performance as prince. That you are not fulfilling your duties as... _effectively_ as you could.” Alcaeus’s knuckles grew white the force he held his hands together. Faramund held his breath.

“I’d say I’m quite effective where it matters,” he said. “Did I or did I not get Neluce to agree to our terms quite readily? The people accepted me as their new prince in _months_. My siblings, my father, and even _his_ fathers — they always took _years_ and far more bloodshed. I have low numbers on both. Is it truly that I’m ineffective or that he only cares for different numbers?” Alcaeus quirked an eyebrow. “The number of enemies I have, perhaps?” Leon continued to smile, but conceded with a small nod of his head. The room felt cold. The others human sat enraptured, as if waiting for a cue on what to do. For now, Leon and Alcaeus were the only two who mattered. Faramund turned his gaze on Osmand, just in case. The other closed his eyes and remained as he was, as if bored.

“Your spitfire personality is as your father described you,” Leon replied.

 _He’s trying to goad you,_ Faramund told Al telepathically. _Don’t give him what he wants._ Alcaeus gave no response and no visible cue that he’d heard him. Leon continued, “But neither of you are wrong. Perhaps _most_ of Neluce accepted you, at first... but that their disgrace of a princess has managed to build a new reputation at _all_ means now you are failing.”

“Rebellions rise and fall all the time.”

“So do kingdoms if you’re not careful,” Leon said. “These people killed your wife. _Your child._ And you merely execute the few responsible?” Alcaeus flinched. Faramund bit the inside of his cheek to keep from expressing any rage. It was no Nelucian who killed them and everyone knew it.

“Justice was served,” the prince answered. He fiddled with the ring on his left hand.

“Perhaps.” Leon's face hardened. “Or perhaps it was a mercy of a weak-willed man. You are a prince, Alcaeus. Chosen family of God himself. You are not here to be _merciful_ , you are here to _rule._ They must fear God and, by extension, _you._ His will is yours. Their lives are yours to determine. Kill one guilty man and it’s justice. Kill many more and fear will do the rest. People need a powerful leader or they will fall to chaos. Surely your father taught you even that?”

Alcaeus smiled bitterly. “Oh, it would have been a hard lesson not to notice.” Alcaeus tilted his head high. “You were always good for a round of debate, Leon, but I’m afraid I have little time for it. Cut to the chase. Why did my father send you here?”

Leon cracked half a smile. “To warn you,” he said. “Your father is still King. If you can’t get your people under control, he will _take_ this entire kingdom from you by the will of God.”

“What?!” Alcaeus jumped from his chair. Faramund grabbed Al’s shoulder, cutting his reaction short. Al glanced to Faramund and yanked his shoulder free from his grip. Faramund winced. He’d broken a rule — and in front of Leon. He retreated back against the wall. Alcaeus glared Leon down, both fists clenched at his side. “He has no right!”

“He has every right, I’m afraid.” Leon's eyes darkened. “Don’t despair my prince. It is only natural not _every_ child is capable. Even a King has to be indiscriminate when fulfilling God’s will.”

 _God’s will my ass!_ Alcaeus thoughts vented at Faramund. He was inclined to agree. Alcaeus took a deep breath and forced himself to sit again. He crossed his arms on the table, gripping his arms. Faramund glanced over Leon, catching Osmand’s icy gaze.

“What, then, does my father wish me to do?” Alcaeus asked.

“Squash this has-been princess, her rebellion, and any sympathizers. Let every town be able to smell the blood from their backyards,” Leon responded. “You’ve let Neluce keep their identity too long. Obliterate it. Their traditions, their customs, their language — all of it. They’re Celeibran now and they need to act like it.” He narrowed his eyes. No one else in the room moved. “Understand?”

“Crystal,” Alcaeus spat. Faramund’s stomach fell to the pit of his stomach.

Leon and his Guardian shared the same grin.

  
***

Decebal’s teleportation portal flung him face-first into a shelf of painful everyday objects. Buckets, brushes, and everything else tumbled off him and crashed to the floor. He managed to regain his balance as a broom fell and hit him on the head.

“Ow!” he hissed, rubbing the top of his head. He prayed no one heard that. Decebal pushed up his glasses, not that it helped his vision. The room was complete darkness other than a faint outline of light around what had to be a door.

A closet. Not bad. There were worse places to teleport.

He pulled the two crystal prisms from his pocket the princess’ Guardian had given him. Only one still shone a pale white light. That spell had used that much magic? He was going to have to be careful not to use the other carelessly. Or at all. He still needed to get back. Slipping both back in his pocket, Decebal stepped over the mess he’d made and leaned one ear against the door. He counted in time with his heartbeats. One. Two. Three. He pulled back. Either neither was out there or it was one thick door. He’d take his chances on the first one. He cracked his knuckles and grinned. Today was going to be a good day.

Decebal cracked open the door and peered through the gap. He hid back as a shadow passed before taking another look. A maid, not a guard. He let out the breath he’d been holding and waited for her to turn the corner. He dashed the other way. The space felt alien — cold stone walls and ornate pillars. Only the layout of Nelucian tree architecture felt familiar. Yet the halls were long and barren of excess furniture. It was creepy, and also left few places to hide. He slid to a stop at the next intersection and held fast again the wall.

To the right were a couple of guards. Not good. Left, mages. Worse. He could give up now and go back, but playing it safe meant returning empty-handed. Metaphorically, of course — he wasn’t here to steal. Not intentionally. If he _happened_ to find an unbonded Guardian crystal, he wouldn’t say no to taking it. But now, in the depths of the castle, he realized...maybe this _had_ been a bad idea. He’d never been in a fight in his life. He could use magic, but he barely qualified as a mage. Decebal retreated a few steps back, keeping his eyes on the danger of the crossroad.

His back collided into something soft. Decebal jumped and threw a hand on his mouth before he let out a yelp. He grimaced and twisted to face. It was the maid from before. She’d come back. Her brows furrowed and Decebal pasted on his most innocent smile.

“Hi,” he said. “Sorry. My bad. Should’ve been looking where I was going.”

“Nelucian is not permitted within the castle while the Majesty’s adviser is here,” she said. Decebal’s blood ran cold. Oh. Of course it wasn’t. Should’ve seen that coming. She glanced up and down his person. “You’re wearing no uniform.” Eyes wide, she looked beyond his shoulder and yelled out in Celeibran. Decebal rose a hand, but was too late to stop her. One quick glance told him enough — the mages and guards were charging. He shoved her out of the way and bolted.

He sprinted as fast as his feet could carry him.

He should have listened to the princess when she’d said, _“Absolutely do not do that.”_ But no, instead he’d listen to her bemused Guardian who’d given him the crystals and said, _“Have fun.”_ He gritted his teeth together. Behind him, a voice chanted a spell. Decebal leapt aside, a blast of ice grazing his arm. No, the Guardian gave him these crystals because he _understood_. He wasn’t useless. So he only had one crystal left to get back — so what? He was a mage too, wasn’t he? He had _some_ magic of his own. Not much, but...enough. Decebal ducked as a shot of lightning struck past above and slid to stop on the red carpet. He rotated on his heels and threw both hands up. Two mages, three guards. Decebal took a deep breath.

He could do this.

Clapping his hands together, he focused on the energy within himself. He dragged what he could into his palms. Sparks flared from his body. He twisted and condensed it smaller and smaller into a single space. He could see the whites of their eyes now. One of the mages began preparing another spell. This would have to do. Decebal thrust his hands outward, opening them apart. The energy exploded as lightning. It bolted along the walls and floor. His assailants yelled out and stumbled as they were struck — but they weren’t down. He wasn’t strong enough.

He clenched his jaw and fled.

***

“Your father has also requested I stay and monitor your progress,” Leon continued. “If you ask, I will be more than happy to offer you...suggestions.” His smile failed to reach his eyes.

“Wonderful,” Alcaeus grumbled.

 _We need to be careful_ , Faramund thought to his bonded.

 _Don’t need to tell me that_ , Alcaeus returned. Leon's eyes flickered past Alcaeus. Faramund averted his gaze at once and stared straight ahead.

“One more thing,” Leon said slowly. “Your Guardian. Faramund, was it?”

Al narrowed his eyes. “What about him?”

“Make use of him, will you? You were blessed to be gifted with one of the family’s most loyal warriors, and yet you don’t even _use_ his power.” Faramund couldn’t help himself. He looked at him. Leon smirked.

“What do you want me to do? Burn a town or two?” Alcaeus quipped.

Leon shrugged. “Don’t be so _dramatic_ about it,” he said. “But yes, if you have to. At the very least, control him. He almost looks like he’s _thinking_. That’s _your_ job.” Staring straight into Faramund he dictated, “He shouldn’t so much as move without your say so.” Alcaeus’ glanced back for a second — long enough for Faramund to see his frustration. He bit the inside of his cheek and cast his gaze away. Al wasn't the type to slice off Faramund’s horns in anger like his grandfather. Though they’d always grown back, he was grateful for that. But it didn't mean he wouldn’t be punished later regardless.

“Is my father’s paranoia reaching even you now? I shouldn’t have to worry about one of our most loyal, don’t you think?” Al spat.

Leon chuckled. “You should always worry, my prince. _Especially_ about those close to you.” Neither the prince or his Guardian needed to be told twice to get the warning. A shout and clamor from outside drew their attention. Alcaeus rose to his feet and Faramund moved to his side.

“What was that?” Alcaeus asked. Faramund tensed at sensing the flux of magic in the air. Not concentrated in a single element, it could only be humans. He moved himself in front of Alcaeus. More yells. A blast. More thundering footsteps.

“An intruder,” Faramund said. He instinctively began to move, but flinched back mid-movement. He hadn’t gotten permission yet and that man was still watching. Leon was right about one thing: Alcaeus wasn’t the problem. He was. Faramund turned to Alcaeus expectedly.

Al nodded. “Take care of it.” Faramund bound to the door.

“Show them how it’s done, won’t you?” Leon instructed Osmand. The water Guardian at Faramund’s side in an instant, lunging past humans in his way with no care for their safety. He grinned at seeing Faramund’s face.

“Bit of a friendly competition?” he asked, running alongside him. “First one to kill the human wins!” Faramund didn’t bother responding. Alcaeus was the only human who had never made Faramund kill. They wouldn’t be starting now. He took a deep breath and focused only on the sounds and the flow of magic around them. Determining the direction of the intruder, he hastened his pace. Osmand was already one step ahead of him. Faramund clenched his jaw and pushed himself faster. For Alcaeus’ sake, _he_ had to be the one to resolve this.

Rushing around the corner, he spotted the source of the commotion. A single boy being pursued by a mix of mages and normal human guards.

“Out of the way!” he shouted. Faramund pressed his feet hard into the ground and filled his body with warmth. Flames lit up around him. He pushed off, letting the fire blast shove him forward several feet. The humans scrambled out of the way. The boy glanced back long enough for Faramund to see his eyes widen in panic. The boy yelped and continued his escape. Faramund prepared for another leap, building more fury into his body. His markings radiated a brighter gold. He was catching up. Just one more jump —

Osmand flew in from nowhere — teleported, of course. Faramund scowled. _Water Guardians._ Osmand kicked the boy into the wall. Ice crystals glided up from Osmand’s body, condensing into several floating spears of ice. The intruder coughed and staggered into a sitting position against the wall. Each icicle aimed true for his heart. Faramund grunted and forced another fiery leap. As the icicles flew, Faramund rotated mid-jump and covered one side with fire. The ice hissed to steam as they hit. He rolled on the ground and back to his feet. Both Guardians eyed the other with disdain. The boy scrambled onto his feet.

“We apprehend,” Faramund said. “Not kill.” Osmand scoffed. Out of the corner of Faramund’s eye, the boy bolted. Faramund swept his leg to kick him down — but the boy jumped over him.

“Sorry!” the boy yelled as he ran. Faramund blinked. He’d anticipated and was _apologizing?_ Humans! Osmand resumed pursuit and Faramund rushed to join him. Osmand would kill him. It’s what Leon would want, what Alcaeus’ father would want. The way Celeibra always did things. He couldn’t let that happen. That wasn’t how they did things. Alcaeus would never allow it. Osmand’s hands motioned for another teleportation. Faramund rocketed flames from his feet and punched him aside. Osmand growled as his side collided into the wall. Faramund didn’t care. His focus was on the boy.

The boy began motioning with his own hands — wait. That was teleportation. He couldn’t let him get away. Faramund lit himself aflame and rocketed forward, gaining quickly. The boy mumbled his spell faster, his hands begin to glow. The fear was clear on his face. Sweat glistened on his brow. Faramund pulled back his arm and focused the aim of his punch. Time felt slow. He would catch him. That was certain.

“Faramund!” Alcaeus’ voice yelled out. “Kill him!”

_What?_

Faramund hesitated. For a split second, he didn’t move how he was supposed to. Time regained its normal flow. The boy finished his spell, casting a glowing portal of blue light before him. He leapt — and Faramund missed. At least, where it mattered. He added some more fire to push his momentum and managed to catch the boy’s ankle with a flaming grasp. Even through his boot, he must have felt the heat — he screamed. Faramund pulled.

But the boy had already reached the portal. It drew him in.

Faramund had put too much force behind himself. He couldn’t counter the spell’s strength.

Both of them tumbled into the light.

Faramund had lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decebal has no idea what he's doing, in case that wasn't clear.


	3. Chapter 2

# II

His life was in her hands. Channary stared at the gold earrings in her palm, the only thing of value she had left. The metal was thin and cut with delicate precision. Several hearts were etched within one another and intertwined with a pattern of vines. A diamond lay in the center of each. A gift from her mother to honor her coming of age. That was near a decade ago now. She clasped her fist closed around them. If she sold them, captain Phirun would live.

Probably.

Maybe not.

The day Neluce had fallen to Celeibra, her future had crumbled to pieces with it. She wrapped a hand over her fist and raised both before her chin. What was a princess with no kingdom? No country? No power?

Not a princess at all.

And if Phirun lived? Her grip tightened. She’d never be princess again. It was he who’d taught her to use a sword, yet never let her wield it. _Stay safe, majesty._ The words were now a curse, used to trap her from her people. They lived in the woods and hunted like animals, all to spare her from being discovered. From being seen. _They’ll kill you if they find you_ , they’d said over and over again. After all these years, was it even true? Had anyone even cared at all? She turned her gaze up to the sky. The sun strained to to shine upon them among the trees, the leaves fighting off every beam of light.

Channary stood up and glanced back. Her Guardian Leilani remained at the captain’s side. She dipped the cloth into the stream and placed it atop his forehead. He slept, shaking, and face scrunched in pain. She thought him invincible once, but even the strongest of men can fall. Leilani’s eyes met hers, her mouth in a deep frown. Channary couldn’t tell who she was more worried about. She swallowed. After all the soldiers had left them one by one, these two were the only ones left. The only ones who still called her “princess”.

She couldn’t let him die.

“Be safe,” Leilani said as Channary turned away.

“I’ll be back soon,” she answered.

***

Channary’s heart pounded with each step as she walked the road into the nearest village. There was familiarity to the sight. Entryways carved into the base of each towering tree, with more in the branches above. The tree’s thick vines created natural paths to the levels above. Bridges were slung from tree to tree where crossing branches were unavailable. Children ran, laughing and shouting, while their parents mingled or worked. Farmers tended to circular gardens across the forest floor. The height of these trees were no match for that of their castle. She used to look down on towns like this from the highest room. Now, from below, she felt small. They paid her no mind as she approached.

She pulled her cloak tighter around herself. Beside native Nelucians — her own people — her heart ached and her cheeks burned. They laughed. They smiled. They were content. Same as she remembered from watching as a child. Channary clenched her fists tighter around the cloth. They had abandoned her family, their rulers. None had fought Celeibra when they’d marched in. None of them had looked for her when they won. Some had even _joined_ the enemy.

 _They have their reasons,_ Phirun had told her. _Fear. Survival._ She scanned their faces once more. She saw none of that. No desperation or poverty. No people in need of their princess to save them. She clenched her jaw and strode past one group without another glance.

 _They’re your people, Channary._ Your _people._

But that wasn’t why she was here. Phirun was. And he was dying.

An older man knelt down to a row of crops, examining the leaves of each stalk. The plants seemed healthy to Channary, yet his face looked troubled. She approached with slow steps.

“Excuse me sir,” she said. “Where might I find an apothecary?”

“Sorry?” The man paused and wiped the sweat off his brow. “Oh. Um. Tola is the closest we got to something like that.” He gestured one hand to one of the vines winding upward behind him. “Straight up there with the blue paint across the door.”

Channary bowed her head. “Thank you.” She hustled past him, barely noticing him nod in return. Her feet moved quickly up the vine. Hopefully this ‘Tola’ person would be able to help — and be willing to trade. She tightened her jaw. No. They would. She’d be sure of that. Reaching the top platform, the splash of blue was easy to spot among the green and deep redwood. She took a deep breath, facing the dangling shrubbery and heavy gray fabric covering the entryway. She brushed it aside and entered, triggering a bell.

“Hello?” she called. The bell gave another ring as the heavy cloth fell back from her hand. She cringed at the room before her. It was overflowing with... _junk._ Stacks of books, papers, knick knacks, clothing, and who-know-whats. She took a few steps forward, traversing as if every object on the floor was a danger. A fierce sneeze forced her to pause. _Ugh._ This ‘Tola’ person was in dire need of a maid. A ball of fur on the counter caught her eye next. Was that...was that a _squirrel?!_

“Oh! Hello!”

Channary jumped as a woman with a full head of black curls popped her head from another doorway behind the counter. The woman climbed over her piles of junk, knocking numerous items onto the floor with a clatter. The squirrel awoke from its nest — a hat, Channary now realized — and stretched. It climbed up the woman’s arm as she reached the counter and onto her shoulder. The woman didn’t react at all, eyes honed in on Channary and smiling. She asked, “Can I help you, dear?”

“Um...” Channary swallowed and forced her gaze from the squirrel’s beady gaze. “Are you...Tola?”

“Yes, that’s me!” The woman grinned and shoved a stack of book off the counter. She hopped onto the empty space and crossed her legs. “How can I help you? You’re a new face. Passing through?”

Channary nodded. “I require medicine for my friend and was told you could help.” _Focus, Channary. Focus._ _Ignore the squirrel._ It’s long fluffy ears twitched as it tilted its head. “He has a high fever, chills, and he’s...” She winced. “Suffering greatly.”

“That could be a lot of things.”

“I know,” Channary said with a huff. “But do you have anything that can help or not?”

Tola nodded and slid back to the other side of the counter. “Knowing the specific illness would help, but we’ll have to wager a guess.” She bent down to rummage through the drawers. “This time of year...Root Fever, perhaps?” Channary inched closer, lifting herself on the tips of her toes to watch. As far as she could tell, the drawers only contained more junk. There were a few vials mixed in with tools and gears. Tola picked up one vial at a time to study before putting it back and checking another. “What do you have for me?”

“Excuse me?”

Tola’s eyes met hers from below with a brief smile. “Payment. Not that I don’t sympathize, of course, but people have to eat.”

Channary pulled the gold earrings from her belt pouch. “All I have is these. This should be adequate, yes?” She navigated through more trash and held out her open palm. Tola stood up and adjusted her glasses. The squirrel moved to her other shoulder as she leaned forward for a closer look.

“Hmm,” she said. “The craftsmanship is nice.” She eyed Channary from over the brim of her glasses. “But what am I going to do with these?”

Channary bristled. “They’re _pure gold_ ,” she said. “Sell them and make back multitudes what your help is worth.”

Tola sighed and leaned back. “Sell them to _who_? Darling, no one here has enough coin to match its worth and travelers are few and far between. I sure as hell ain’t traveling all the way to Erulice for two tiny earrings, no matter how much they’re worth.” She snorted. “I’d be putting a target on my back and never make it home.”

“Hire bodyguards, a carriage back, and you’re done! Simple!” She stomped a foot in frustration, which got a raised brow from Tola in response. “You could even bring a maid to clean all your junk!”

“That’s _my_ junk you’re insulting, thanks.”

Channary scowled and tilted her head high. “You said yourself the craftsmanship is excellent. They’d compliment your skin tone and impress any lad around here. Isn’t that enough?” She crossed her arms.

Tola pointed a finger to both her earlobes. “Sweetie, you offered them without even noticing my ears aren’t pierced?” Channary furrowed her brows. What kind of women didn’t have her ears pierced? Tola put the earrings down on the counter between them.

“An easy correction—”

Tola raised a hand up. “Stop, stop. Don’t you have anything else?” Her squirrel nuzzled against her neck. “ _Anything?_ Spare food or supplies?”

“I...” Channary dropped both hands to the side. She didn’t. That was the reality of it. She only had herself, an arguably worthless princess. She swallowed. “I think he’s _dying_ ,” she whispered. “Can’t you just...give it to me?”

“I’m not giving you a handout for a sob story,” Tola replied coolly. She rubbed her forehead. “If you need it so bad, you can work for it.”

Channary blinked.

“ _Work?_ ”

“Yes, honey. _Work_.” She threw one hand on her hip. “I know for a fact they could use some help in the fields.” Tola let out a laugh at seeing her expression. “Oh, don’t look so horrified! Nothing that’ll kill you. A day on the ground is fair, yeah?”

“The fields?” Channary repeated. That was common labor. She couldn’t do that! She didn’t even know _how_ to do that! She’d make a fool of herself, certainly. It was a fair offer, though, and one which would let her keep her mother’s gift... “I...” No — she didn’t have time for this!

Tola snatched the earrings from the counter and dropped it into a drawer. It closed with a harsh thud. Channary jumped. “I’ll keep these as collateral, of course,” Tola said. She held out a vial filled with a yellow liquid and crushed leaves. “I’m not heartless. Help your friend first. Come back, work, and I’ll give you them back. Fair?”

Relief washed over Channary. If she could come back, she didn’t even need to be the one to work. Lani could do it. Or Phirun, if he was up to it. She smiled gratefully and took the vial, tucking it into her pouch.

“More than fair,” she said. “Thank you!” She curtsied in appreciation. Tola seemed amused at the gesture and scratched the top of her pet’s head. “I’ll return as soon as I’m able. I promise on my parents’ souls.”

“No need to be dramatic.”

Channary was already at the door, rushing past the heavy cloth. The bell chimed as she shoved through. As she ran down the vine and out of town, she grinned to herself. She could already picture Phirun’s shock. She hadn’t surprised him since the time she stole his bow and shot a rabbit, just to prove she could. Of course, she’d burst into tears right after, but that was besides the point.

 _That’s right, captain, I helped YOU for once!_ She skipped across the creek. The look on his face alone would be worth it.

***

“Leilani!” Channary yelled, seeing her figure slouched where she’d left her. “Lani!” Her Guardian didn’t so much as raise her head. Channary slowed as she got closer. Phirun was no longer shaking. He wasn’t moving at all. There was no rise and fall of his breath.

She was too late. _Shit._

Channary fell to her knees across from Leilani at his body. Her Guardian had already sprouted a trail of flowers around his body, a Nelucian tradition. Her parents would have approved, even if they’d gotten no such treatment themselves.

“I’m sorry,” Leilani whispered. “There was nothing I could do.” Channary removed the vial from her pouch. She stared at it in her hands, the glass shining as sunlight caught it through the trees. She’d been close. _So close._ Lani smiled sadly. “You did your best to save him. He would be grateful, and proud.”

Channary stared at his body, face more peaceful than it’d been in days. She put the vial on his chest, clasped underneath his hands. A useless gesture, but...at least her task was complete. He already felt cold. She swallowed. “It’s just us now,” she said.

Lani lowered her gaze and frowned. “Yes.”

They couldn’t leave him here. The captain deserved as good a funeral as they could give him. Channary studied his face. His hair was flecked with gray. His wrinkles deep. More scars than she remembered. He’d aged to that of her parents and she’d never noticed. “Captain Phirun was...a good man,” she began. Died at their age too. “He was a strong leader, a kind teacher, and...” He wasn’t her father. But he’d tried in their absence. “A dependable companion. Loyal to his country. He...” Channary forced herself to breath. “He deserved to go more peacefully.”

Lani nodded and closed her eyes. She placed her palms at the ground before her. A soft green light glowed around her palms and spread across the ground. Vines sprouted and advanced across the captain’s body. Flowers bloomed across the vines, all shades of blue. His favorite color. It was a fitting coffin.

“He always watched out for me,” Channary continued. “Up until the very end.” His face grew enveloped by green. Her throat tightened. “Thank you, Phirun Soth Vibol, for your service.” Only a mound of flowers lay between them now. Small bubbles of light floated up from his body. Lani’s magic began to move the earth apart, lowering him gently. “Rest now,” Channary whispered. “May you find peace, light, and a new life.” She closed her eyes.

“Peace, light, and a new life,” Leilani repeated.

When Channary opened her eyes, his body was gone. The ground was flat once more with only a rectangle of flowers marking his grave. Her eyes stung, but no tears fell. She cleared her throat.

“I wish we could have buried him at home,” she said. Had her parents gotten a grave? Or had Celeibra only burned them to ashes? She was afraid to ask, even after all these years.

“Are you alright?” Lani asked.

Channary nodded. “I’m used to losing people by now.” She took a deep breath. “We need to go back to the town.”

“Why?”

“The woman who gave me the treatment didn’t want my earrings. She kept them as collateral, but I promised to work a day instead.” She glanced away.

“Let her keep them. We can’t go back. If they know who you are—”

“They don’t! And what was I supposed to do?!” Channary snapped. “I couldn’t come back empty-handed.” Her eyes fell to the flowers. “At least...I didn’t think I could.” Both of them fell silent. “I made a promise. I need to fulfill it.”

“It’s risky.”

“They’re Nelucian!” Channary cried. “We shouldn’t be afraid of our own people — _my_ people — right?!”

Leilani’s shoulders fell. “I know. But...you aren’t their princess any longer.”

Channary clenched her fists in her lap. “Celeibra took our castle, our capital, and has claimed our land. But I’m _never_ going to stop being their princess. I’m going to fight Celeibra,” she declared. “I’m going to save our people.” She dreamed of it. Nights and days longing to return home. For things to be _right_ again.

“It’s too dangerous,” Leilani replied at once. “You know that.”

“We can’t hide any longer!” she protested. “Haven’t we hid long enough? Haven’t _all_ of you hid me long enough? Maybe the reason people _forgot_ about me was because _you_ let them!”

Leilani winced. “We were keeping you safe. Keeping you alive.”

“But for what?!” she asked. Channary threw an arm out to Phirun’s bow and bag, abandoned at Leilani’s side. “You want us to keep hunting and hiding in the woods for the rest of my life like animals? I can’t live like this anymore, Lani! Don’t you think this is _why_ he died? Why everyone else _left_ us?!” She stood and crossed her arms. “We need allies. We need to reclaim what we’ve lost.”

“You’ll be killed.”

“Dying in the woods alone like Phirun isn’t any better!” She blinked back the moisture filling her eyes. “He was one of the bravest men we ever knew. My parents _loved_ him. And now the only ones who even know he’s dead are us and the dirt!” Tears rolled down her face. “I don’t want to die like this. No one will even be able to bury me because when I go, you’ll be back into a crystal.”

Leilani looked away. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “Your parents asked us to keep you safe. It’s my duty, and...”

“You have,” Channary said. She moved besides Lani and put her hands on her cheeks. “You have kept me safe. You still can. But we can’t stay like this.”

“I know,” Lani said softly. She opened her mouth and then closed it.

Channary frowned. “What is it?”

“What if...what if the people don’t want you back?” Channary dropped her hands from Lani’s face. Lani at once reached for them and clasped them tight. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right. You’d know better. You went into town, after all. What did you think?”

What did she think? The town seemed...fine. Ordinary. No different than she would have expected seven years ago. They didn’t seem to care at all. It made no difference to them. Channary swallowed and wiped the tears from her cheeks. But _she_ cared. And she knew better. That town didn’t count — they were small, and far from the busier cities and capital. Surely _those_ people, closer to their invaders, knew better. _Those_ people would want her to save them from Celeibra’s tyranny. _They_ would want her to be their Queen.

What else could she possibly do? It’s what she had been trained for her whole life.

“They want to be Nelucian again,” she said. They just didn’t know what was good for them yet. She stood up again and held out a hand to Lani. “Let’s go back to town and fulfill my promise. It will be the start of reclaiming my people.” Lani took her hand and Channary pulled her up.

“Okay,” Lani said, smiling softly. “I trust you.”

***

Leilani tugged her hood down and kept her face low. The jade markings across her face were still visible against her brown skin. She grimaced and said, “This is an awful idea. They’ll realize what I am at once.”

Channary rolled her eyes. “Most people go their whole lives never seeing a Guardian. They’ll think they’re tattoos so long as you use no magic.”

Lani’s frown deepened. “They have no soldiers here? No mages?”

“No,” Channary confirmed. “No one will know what you are.” She adjusted her gloves and shifted Phirun’s bag across her back. “I don’t want to stay long, either. If no one is watching, feel free to use your magic to speed things up.”

“That seems...”

“They won’t notice. Trust me.”

Lani nodded and followed Channary, keeping close behind. Tola was in the gardens when they approached, her squirrel still on her shoulder. Her eyes widened for only a moment before her mouth grew into a bright grin.

“Well, well! You came back after all,” Tola announced. “Your friend looks remarkably well—”

“He died,” Channary interrupted. Tola’s face fell at once. Channary shook her head. “Not your fault. I did not return in time.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Channary nodded, looking past her. “I keep my word. Where do you need help?”

“Come.” Tola motioned them to join her at one of the garden circles. The area was lush, overgrown with green. Channary glanced to Leilani. What was she expecting to help with? These plants looked fine. Better than fine. It was too soon to harvest, right? Tola lifted one of the leaves of a large bushel. “Know what these are?”

“No,” Channary answered. Lani said nothing.

“These aren’t native,” she explained. “Celeibra brought them over and...” She sighed. “They’ve overtaken everything. The animals won’t eat them and they’re choking out our crops. Worse, our Celeibran friends already farm them elsewhere. Not only can we grow little else, but we can’t even sell these.” Channary smirked to herself. Of course Celeibra was to blame. She glanced to Lani. _Told you so._

Lani knelt down to see the plant for herself. “So you need them removed?”

Tola nodded. “Weeded, yes. They grow faster than we can keep up.”

Channary grinned. “Thankfully, my friend here has an excellent green thumb.”

“Wasn’t the deal _you_ would work?” Tola raised an eyebrow and threw both hands on her hips.

“Surely you want the better worker to aid you.”

“This doesn’t seem fair to your friend.”

“She’s happy to do it! She volunteered!” Channary turned to Lani. “Right?”

Lani kept her head low and said, “Of course.”

“See?” Channary grabbed Tola’s arm and turned her away from the garden. Lani would work faster if she used her magic. “How about we go get my earrings back?” She gave a final glance back. Lani already had her hands to the base of the stems with closed eyes. Channary smiled proudly and let go of Tola’s arm. “She’s a fast worker. After one day, you’ll miss us when we’re gone.”

“Cocky, aren’t you?” Tola smirked. Her squirrel stared back at Lani from her shoulder. Tola noticed. “Geb?” The squirrel leapt off. Tola spun to catch him. “Hey—” Geb made it to the grass and dashed towards Lani. Tola froze at the sight. Channary ran to block her view, but Tola pushed past her.

Lani’s hands were glowing with the familiar yellow-green light. It spread from her hands across the dirt and to each of the plants. As the light traced up the stems, the invaders began to drain of color and wilt. The light pulled them back into the earth, moving the energy into the smaller sprouts that had laid hidden beneath. Those began to flourish, growing more vibrant and taller. Leaves expanded outward bearing red berries. Lani let the light fade and opened her eyes.

Tola strode to Lani with wide eyes. “What — that was magic, wasn’t it?!” She turned to Channary. “You didn’t say your friend was a _mage_!” She looked once more to Lani. For the first time she seemed to notice the markings on Lani’s skin. “No...a Guardian!” The panic was clear on Lani’s face. Channary moved before her.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Channary hissed.

Tola’s eyes remained locked on Lani. “She can save us!”

“Save you?”

Tola grabbed Channary by the shoulders. “Please! Sell her to me!”

“Excuse me?!” Channary tried to pull back, but Tola’s grip tightened, digging into her skin. “I gave you something worth a fortune and you want _her?!”_

“Those _weeds_ grow back again and again and again. Every year our output is worse. But _she_...She can get rid of them for good!”

“My work is a temporary solution. The plants will grow back. I cannot singlehandedly remove an invasive species from the area,” Lani said, approaching Channary’s side. She put a hand on Tola’s. “Please release her.”

Tola let go. “Who cares? If we had you, you can get rid of them in moments every time. Even that much would save us.” The way her eyes gazed upon Lani made Channary’s skin crawl. She inched closer to Lani protectively.

“Sell the damn earrings,” Channary replied. “That much money will be enough to help you. She’s not for sale. She’s my friend.”

Tola noticed her again, but only for a moment. “Don’t you understand?! Money can’t help us! We can’t buy food if there’s nothing to buy!” She reached for Lani. Channary moved in the way and slapped her hand away hard. Tola scowled. “She’s not a person, she’s a Guardian! She can’t be your friend. They just _look_ like people.”

“You. Cannot. Have. Her,” Channary said. “We will finish helping you and that is all. Keep the earrings.”

Tola narrowed her eyes. “Then share how you got one. That’s fair, isn’t it?” Channary glanced to Leilani for help, but she only looked scared. Tola continued, “You have to be someone important or a damn good thief to get one of those. Which is it?”

Channary stepped back. “I...” This was her moment, wasn’t it? To reveal who she was? That’d change everything. She’d leave them be. They _were_ important. She raised her head and stared at Tola boldly. “I’m Channary Dara Sovanna, heir to the Nelucian throne. Your rightful princess.”

Tola stared at her.

And then laughed.

Laughed!

“You’ll need a better story than that, brat,” she said. “I’ve already met the princess and she ain’t you.”

This time it was Channary who froze. “You _what?”_

“I’ve heard a thing or two about Guardians.” Tola pulled a dagger from under her waist cloth. “And I know if I kill you, the Guardian is mine.” Channary wanted to scream and fight, but found herself unable to move. Even after years of training, in the moment, she was frozen in horror. “The only ones who have Guardians in Neluce are the princess and Celeibrans. She was kind and brilliant. You’re not the princess.”

“I am—”

“She’s telling the truth!” Lani yelled. Louder, she cried out, “Someone! Help! Please!” Others stopped what they were doing to look, but none moved. No one came to their side.

“Guardians will say anything to save their humans!” Tola screamed. “If you’re really your own person, wouldn’t you rather help _us_ than this conceited girl?!”

“No!”

It happened too fast for Channary to register.

One moment Tola’s dagger was approaching her heart. The next, she was being thrown high above. Vines has wrapped tightly around her chest, forcing her into the tree’s branches to escape. Below, Lani’s hands were outstretched outward towards her, glowing — and Tola’s dagger stabbed through her tunic. It connected Lani’s crystal, unleashing a flash as it cracked.

Screaming. Channary couldn’t tell if it was Lani or herself.

She winced as light exploded.

And Lani vanished.

The vines loosened, the magic controlling them lost at once. Channary fell forward. She flailed, aiming for every branch in hopes of breaking her fall. Her stomach finally landed, hard, into one branch. She hung there, heart pounding and whole body was shaking. She dug her hands into the rough bark, dragging herself further onto the branch. She sat up and gaped back at the town and figures in the distance...minus one.

Lani was gone.

She was alone.

And someone else had stolen her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this concludes introducing our primary POV characters. :)


	4. Chapter 3

# III

Faramund and the boy flung from the sky in flash of light, left to the whim of gravity. His eyes widened at the fast approaching ground. The boy screamed. Faramund let go of his ankle and shoved him aside. He needed a better position to land — but then the nausea hit.

God, he hated teleportation.

Faramund hit the ground, hard. As his body rolled down the steep hill, he scrambled for something to hold onto. His feet and hands clawed at the dirt, blowing dust in the air and catching nothing. His vision was spinning, but from rolling or teleportation sickness he couldn’t tell. He flung his legs once more in hopes of finding a rock or outcropping, but his feet only met air.

Air?

A ravine. They’d been dropped right above a ravine. He needed magic, now — instead his head felt a sharp pain. After two centuries, _this_ was how he’d die? His crystal shattering after falling off a cliff because of teleportation sickness? Pathetic. At least the humans weren’t here to see it. His body slipped past the cliff side. Faramund slammed his eyes shut.

His whole body jerked to a stop. Two hands had grabbed one of his. Faramund’s eyes flew open and gazed upwards. Though his vision was still hazy, he could make out the boy as the one holding him. And trying to pull him up, he realized.

“What are you doing?!” he exclaimed.

“You’re going to _die!”_ the boy yelled back. “What do you think I’m doing?!” He grunted, trying to will more strength in his body to pull Faramund up. An impossible task, Faramund noted. Even with his sight blurred he could tell he was scrawny. The boy glowered down at him. “I’m not exactly known for my strength, so if you could help, that’d be _great.”_

Faramund stared, momentarily forgetting he was moments away from dropping to his death.

“Are you stupid?”

The boy laughed, a cackle mixed with an irritated exertion. “Apparently! Yes! Yell at me later!”

Well, fine. Faramund could do that. He was no use to Alcaeus dead anyway. He swung his other hand up for the ledge. Another wave of nausea hit and he missed.

“You have got to be kidding me,” the boy grumbled. He pulled harder. Faramund took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. He tried not to think about the drop below — _focus!_ — and threw his arm again. This time his hand found the ledge. The boy took that as his cue to give an even harder tug, pulling him close enough that Faramund’s feet met the cliffside. His boot finally found an outcropping to push himself up as the boy pulled. With a final jerk, Faramund made it over the top — and let himself collapse on the ground. His head was pounding. The boy flopped down into a sitting position and let out a sigh of relief.

“I didn’t think Guardians got teleportation sickness,” he said as Faramund rolled onto his back. Faramund laid his arms over his forehead and grunted in response. “Are you okay?”

Faramund opened one eye and glanced at him. “I tried to kill you,” he said, “and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

“ _No_ , you stopped the _other_ guy from killing me,” the boy replied. He stood up and dusted off his pants before straightening the glasses on his face. Faramund noted he was favoring one leg. Scorch marks had burned through his right boot and singed his ankle. The boy continued, “And now I saved you, so we’re even.”

Faramund didn’t have it in him to get up, so he glared from where he lay. “We are not _even_ ,” he said. “Breaking into royal grounds and attacking the guards is a capital offense. What are you? A thief? A spy?”

“Hey! I’m not a criminal!” the boy protested, placing a hand over his chest. “And they attacked me first!” He hobbled over to Faramund and held out his hand. “You’ll feel better faster if you sit up, trust me.” Faramund swatted it away. He shoved himself up into sitting upright with a groan. The boy shrugged and pulled back. “Suit yourself.” Faramund turned, surveying the view over the valley below. All he saw were trees and mountains for miles. None he recognized.

“Where are we?” he asked.

The boy threw his hands on his hips and followed his gaze. “Haha... Yeah... About that,” he answered. “I have no idea.”

Faramund’s head whipped back to him. “You don’t—” He winced, head spinning again from reacting too fast. Through gritted teeth, he said, “How can you not know? It was _your_ teleportation spell!”

The boy flung both arms out to the side. “You threw off my focus! I only had enough magic to take _one_ person, not two.” He scratched the top of his head. “So, we’re at least half the distance I intended. Probably. But as for where exactly... dunno.”

Faramund groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m Decebal, by the way,” he said. Faramund glanced back at him with a raised brow. A human introducing himself to _him?_ The boy, Decebal, gave a sheepish smile and small shrug. “And you’re...?”

“Faramund,” he answered. “And you’re going to take me back.”

Decebal blinked a few times. “I’m sorry?”

He pushed himself up, forcing himself to his feet despite the lingering dizziness. “You brought me here and you’re going to take us back at once.”

“Oh. Um. No,” Decebal replied. “Can’t do that.”

Faramund glared. “Yes, you can.”

“No, I _can’t_.” Decebal threw both palms up. “I literally cannot. Unlike you, us mere mortals don’t have an unlimited magic supply. Teleportation is _hard_. I’m tapped out.” Faramund kept his gaze level, unconvinced. Decebal huffed and gestured both hands to his burnt boot. “You think I wouldn’t heal that if I could?! It hurts like hell! Thanks for asking!”

Faramund avoided his eyes. “You’re fine.” He took a deep breath and reached for the magic around them. It pulsed through the trees, earth, and wind, but...nothing from the boy. For now, he seemed to be telling the truth. Decebal shook his head and turned to face the hill. His attempt to limp up the hill quickly soon into more of a crawl. Faramund refocused on the magic within himself.

_Al. Alcaeus. Al, answer me!_ No response. They were too far apart, and his magic weakened along with it. He checked back on Decebal’s progress. It was nothing impressive. After a few more steps, his feet began sliding back down in the dirt. One foot caught, twisting his injured ankle. With a curse, he gave up and sat cross-legged in the dirt. Sighing, he rested his head on one hand.

“I don’t suppose you can get us up there?” he asked. “Maybe find us a town or something?”

Faramund scanned the terrain of the hill. Now that he felt better... “Can you walk?”

“Not well, obviously,” Decebal grumbled. Nothing to dispute there. The boy was on the short side and scrawny. Light. Faramund strode over to him and began to reach down. Decebal panicked and threw both hands up defensively. “What are you doing?!”

Faramund cocked his head to the side and said, “Carrying you.”

“Like a bride? No thanks! I’d rather walk!”

“You’ll slow us down,” Faramund said, “and I’d rather not drag your body through the dirt. It would injure you further, and my impression is you’d like that even less.” _Humans._ They got worked up about the strangest things.

“Fine,” Decebal grumbled. “But at least carry me on your back or something.” Faramund shrugged. Didn’t matter to him. He put his back to him and knelt down. Decebal put his hands on his shoulder. Faramund grabbed his legs as he hopped onto his back. He was easier to carry than he expected. Satisfied with their stability, he began the trek upwards. Progress was slow, one step at a time as Faramund studied for the next best foothold. Decebal sighed over his shoulder and mumbled, “This is so embarrassing.”

“After all your screaming in the hallway,” Faramund said, “this is what you find embarrassing?”

“You’d be too if it were you.”

“You would in no way be able to carry me.”

“Pft. Keep walking, buddy. Didn’t ask for your opinion.”

Faramund stopped. He _hadn’t_. He hadn’t followed a single rule since they’d dropped here. Hadn’t even _thought_ about it. A wave of unease washed over him. This didn’t count, right? Extremely unusual circumstances. No one had to know. And if they did, he was doing what was necessary. Right?

“Your Nelucian is really good, by the way,” the boy added.

Faramund ignored him, but moved forward once more, slower. He needed to get back, and he needed the mage to do that. How long would it take him to recover his magic? Leaving Alcaeus with Leon...he swallowed. There was no way to know if he’d be safe. But they wouldn’t do anything directly to hurt him...right? He almost laughed at the thought. Myrinne, Sophea, and Iason were testaments to the reality of that.

_Kill him_.

Why had Al ordered him to kill this boy?

Decebal leaned over his shoulder. “You alright?”

Faramund pulled himself from his thoughts. “Yes,” he said, turning his head opposite of him. “It’s nothing.” He could feel the boy’s gaze piercing into the side of his face, no doubt unconvinced. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t tell if it was from exertion or the unusual amount of attention. Taking a deep breath, he finally pulled their weight over the top of the hill. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes.

He let focus wander through the air of magic drifting through everything around them. In the air, the trees, the ground, and the warmth of the sun. Faramund searched the drifting pulses for ones that felt strongest. A large grouping of earth, water, and fire pulled him towards the east. Opening his eyes, he followed the energy.

“This way,” he said.

“How do you know?”

Faramund considered not answering. After a beat, he said, “Educated guess. More concentrated pocket of magic. Likely to be human dwelling. That’s all.”

“Wow! You can tell that sort of thing?!”

Faramund glanced over to see the awe on Decebal’s face. “You’re a mage. You should be able to sense the magic of the world around you, too,” he answered, raising a brow. “Did you abandon the military so soon in your lessons?”

“The mili— Oh. Right.” The boy retreated from over his shoulder. Curious. Any human found to be capable of magic was drafted into the military. _All_ of them. Whatever the boy was, thief or spy, he must have fled at some point. The government was nothing if not efficient about sniffing them out. As intrigued as Faramund was, he didn’t dare ask why he’d left. The excitement of learning magic often didn’t last long for humans. He’d heard the rumors.

“Is it rude to ask how many humans you’ve had?” Decebal asked, changing the subject. Faramund didn’t mind. It was better than thinking of other things.

“Yes,” Faramund replied.

“Oh.”

“I’m with my seventh.”

“Oh! Seven! So you gotta be, like, old, right?”

Faramund snorted. “Now _that_ is rude.” He wasn’t going to answer that one.

“Sorry. Mom always says I don’t think before I speak.” Decebal let out a long sigh. “Or act. They always complain I talk too much.” Not that Faramund cared, but he suspected they weren’t wrong. “But, like, I learn so many new things from talking to people! You don’t seem like much of a talker. That’s okay. Listening is important too. But you would not beliiiieve some of the things I’ve heard...”

Faramund listened as they progressed along, speaking rarely. The boy was strange. His stories were strange. But the noise was a welcome alternative to being left alone with his thoughts. It made the journey bearable. Peaceful, even. It distracted him from the aching in his body as they progressed. The life of the forest felt at times suffocating — all earth, wind, and water, with the only fire energy from the sun — but he could endure it. He had to. He kept Alcaeus in mind with every step when his mind wandered from his stories.

An outcropping laid before them with rows and rows of irrigated crops. No doubt the source of the concentrated earth and water magic he’d felt. Beyond that, man-made structures stood out among the high tree tops they’d been built on. Neluce had long been known for their dwellings in the trees, which centuries ago had helped kept them hidden. As technology and their population grew, they’d lost that feature. Railings, bridges, and spiral stairways made towns more obvious. Inner stoves and chimneys always radiated heat that made it easier for him to track. Fire magic was always easier for him to feel out. Still, the foliage provided some natural protection from both the rain and sun.

He opened his mouth to announce their arrival, but Decebal silenced him with excited bops to his head. Decebal exclaimed, “There really is a town here! Nice job.”

“If I was wrong, we would have been better off at the cliff,” Faramund noted. Human dwellings were always a high concentration of elements...but so did disasters. Natural or human-made.

“Thanks for not being wrong then,” Decebal said, amused.

Faramund knelt down and twisted, forcing Decebal off his back. The boy got the hint quickly, but yelped as his feet hit the ground. He winced, favoring the good leg and grabbing one of Faramund’s arms for support.

“Really?” he said. “You’re going to make me walk _now?”_

Faramund tilted his head to the side. “You have to. I can’t go into town with you. You will receive no aid if anyone sees me.”

“Aw, you’re not that scary looking!” Decebal grinned, eyeing the golden horns protruding from Faramund’s forehead.

Faramund glanced away, face feeling warm. “All Guardians must be accompanied by their bonded or an approve individual by law.” He crossed his arms. “No exceptions.”

“But aren’t you, like, important?”

“No exceptions,” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Who my bonded is matters little in this case. Either they’ll assume you stole me and kill you, _or_ they’ll think I betrayed my bonded and kill us both.” Faramund shrugged. “Though I expect little difficulty in escaping for me.”

Decebal rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll go by myself. What are you going to do?”

Faramund strode to the nearest tree and took a seat on the opposite side to the field. “Wait.”

“Wait? For what?”

“You, of course,” Faramund answered. “I’ll find you after dark. You’ll have your leg healed and magic restored by then, correct?” He eyed Decebal for a moment. He didn’t feel much improvement in his magic levels, if at all. He continued, “In which case, you will teleport me back and we will part ways.”

Hopefully, anyway.

Their eyes met. Decebal didn’t speak and Faramund couldn’t read his expression. Faramund flinched when Decebal threw his arms in the air with an exasperated sigh. “Alright. Sure. Whatever.” Faramund tilted his head as the boy turned to the town. Was he mad? The boy limped forward, progress slow. Faramund leaned his back against the tree and closed his eyes. _Alcaeus_...the link between them was thin. He was still too far. But at least now he had time to focus enough to call upon it. He pulled all the warmth from within himself, pushing that magic into their link to strengthen it.

_Prince Alcaeus,_ he called. _Alcaeus!_ No response. He hated this feeling. Faramund took a shaky breath and remained where he was. _Patience_ , he told himself. The prince likely needed a mage to strengthen a reply on his end. He had no magic of his own, after all.

So he waited.

Tried again.

Waited longer.

The air grew colder, though from the setting sun or expending so much of his element he couldn’t tell. He gave another desperate call.

_Faramund!_

His heart jumped. A wave of relief fell from his breath. Finally!

_Alcaeus,_ he answered at once. _Are you alright? What happened?_

_You’re the one who disappeared with the intruder! I should be asking you!_ Al replied. Faramund held back a smile. Al added, _Not easy to find a mage I can trust around here, you know. What’s the situation on your end?_

Faramund wasn’t sure where to begin. _I don’t know where we are,_ he replied. _Neither does he. I demanded he teleport me back, but he seems to have depleted his magic. I’m waiting for him to recover._

_You can’t get back without him?_

_It’d be fastest, given the circumstances. Unless one of your mages can teleport._

_Only Leon’s Guardian, but if we don’t know where you are, we can’t do anything,_ Alcaeus answered. _We tried to trace our link, but it’s not strong enough for any of them to follow._ Faramund had expected as much. Few humans were capable of holding the amount of magic required for teleportation. And since it was _their_ bond, he could feel better than anyone else. Al added, _Once you get a location, I’ll send them. I_ need _you back here. Leon is way too pleased about you being gone for my taste._

_Of course._ Faramund bit the inside of his lip. Humans were always easier to kill than their Guardians, and now he was completely vulnerable...

_One more thing,_ Alcaeus said. _The boy. Why was he — no, never mind. Don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter what he was doing._ Faramund tensed, listening close. _Convince him to come back with you. Then kill him._

Faramund froze. It wasn’t his job to question him. It wasn’t his _right_. But...they didn’t _kill_ people. His _dad_ killed people. Alcaeus was different. Alcaeus always wanted to be _better_. He replied, _I..._ He paused. Tried again. _If I may...why? Apprehending I understand, but..._

He could practically feel Al sigh. _Leon has been breathing down my neck since you left,_ he said. _I know, I know. It sucks. But you heard what he said about King Theron. If killing one kid makes them back off for a while, we have to take it. He’s not going to leave until you’re back for my ‘safety’ and he’s watching my every move like a hawk. They want to see us as ruthless, and we need to put on a show. I need you back here, Faramund. I don’t trust him. You know I don’t. I know what I promised you, but...this is a one-time thing, alright?_

Faramund nodded to himself. One boy...wasn’t the worst thing he’d done.

_Very well_ , he said.

_Thanks. At least you’re kind of used to it, right?_

Faramund frowned in spite of himself. “Used to it”? What did that mean? They’d made a promise. A promise!

Alcaeus kept on, _Let me know where you are as soon as possible, okay? I gotta get back before Leon asks what I’m—_

_Wait!_

Faramund’s heart was pounding. He’d interrupted Alcaeus. He’d interrupted the _prince._

_What?_ Al sounded just as surprised.

Faramund took a breath. _I..._ What was he doing? What was he going to say? “No”? What good would that do? He swallowed and settled on, _Be careful. Keep your distance from Leon._

_Of course_ , Al replied. His voice was gentle, yet Faramund felt uneasy. His chest felt in knots. _But Faramund...a warning._ He paused a beat. It felt like eternity. _If you can’t get back...I’ll have to break the bond, you know?_

Faramund felt sick.

Right. Of course.

A prince needs protection and what good is a Guardian who’s not there?

_I know_ , he said. _I won’t let you down._

_Good,_ Alcaeus said. _Get in touch again soon._ He felt the pulse of their connection fade as the mage’s boost on his end dissipated. Their link fizzled away, leaving an emptiness in his chest. Faramund slumped over, his own magic spent. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and looked up. The moon glowed down on him. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. The sun was long gone.

Faramund rose to his feet.

One time...

It was supposed to be _zero_.

So what if they broke a promise? Humans had been lying to him since as long as he could remember. The wind froze his face as he walked across the field, numbing his burning cheeks. He was the stupid one for believing it’d be _forever_. Nothing with humans lasted forever. Not their lives. And their promises? Even less.

Stupid.

But Al _was_ different, wasn’t he? He’d kept his word before.

And he _was_ better. Better than the other humans he’d been with.

So what if he had to kill someone?

It was one time.

Just one more time.

No big deal.


	5. Chapter 4

# IV

The arrow came free from the rabbit’s carcass after a sickening twist. Channary hated this. The blood. The way her reflection stared back from its dead eyes. She took a shaky breath and checked the arrow’s tip. It glistened with blood, new and old. The tip remained intact. Usable. She returned the arrow to Phirun’s quiver across her back. She had to re-use what she could. She was lucky she’d had the captain’s bag when Lani...

Lani.

Channary took another deep breath and grabbed the rabbit. Skinning it was a step she hadn’t yet been able to take. She’d tried. One cut in and she vomited. The disgust was the only thing quelling her rumbling stomach. She wasn’t that hungry yet. She tied the rabbit with her other successes across a long stick she’d found. One bird, two squirrels, and three rabbits. Now four rabbits.

She pushed herself to her feet. This should be enough to get a bed and a real meal — one where she didn’t have to see the blood or hear it cry as it died. She fixed the arrow back to her bag before slinging her kills over her shoulder. Channary glanced at her fingertips, coated with a mix of blood and dirt. Filthy. She brushed the oil and sweat from her brow. Disgusting.

It was difficult to keep her feet steady. Her whole body ached, hungered, and thirsted. Phirun had intended to go to Beilan to resupply. Now she’d go there herself. Channary clenched her jaws. Tola had mentioned meeting “the princess”...this imposter — who was she? How long had they claimed her identity? Had Lani and Phirun known? The thought infuriated her. Her fists tightened.

How long had she dreamt of returning home? To the comfort of the castle? To a warm bed, grand meals, and adorning staff? That life was her _right._ It had already been stolen from her once.

She sure as hell wasn’t losing it again.

Or anything else.

***

Relief washed over her once Beilan was in sight, followed by a wave of revulsion. The city was built of stone and stacked — far different than the Sisteen trees that defined their home. It’d been an experiment at the time, taking inspiration from their western neighbors. They’d even offered guidance on the construction. These buildings didn’t burn and endured the storm season far better.

Of course, that’d been far before they’d known their western neighbors would come to _conquer_ them. She kept her head down under her hood as she approached, walking with apprehension. One hand tightened on her kills while the other clung tight to the blade on her belt. Holding her breath, she strode under the entrance’s archway. Channary eyed every sight with suspicion, as if it was enemy territory. It was hard to know who was really Nelucian anymore.

The city was a popular trade post, resulting in crowds mixed of many different cultures. Though this made it hard to identify only her people, it worked to her advantage. Few Nelucians were natural blondes, especially as light as hers. Among the number of northern traders, she blended in. No one paid her any mind. Her prizes were small compared to the men carrying larger boars or deer across their shoulders. Others hauled a collection of pelts, or heavy construction materials for across town. She felt small in comparison. Her fingers tightened on her blade and she kept her gaze dark. No one would be robbing her today.

Further in, she spotted a city board and forced her way towards it. She scanned past the announcements and paused at the wanted posters. The reward for people was greater than animals. She swallowed. No doubt harder, but maybe, later... Her eyes moved on to the city map. Tracing a finger over the road, she determined her course: butcher, food, and rest. Simple enough.

Finding the butcher took little time — the other huntsman were easy to spot and follow. The amount was less than she’d liked, but she didn’t know enough to argue. She took the coin, grateful to be rid of the corpses. The butcher recommended a tavern for a cheap meal, so she headed there next. She kept an eye open for Guardians, but there were none. There were a few local soldiers on patrol, bearing the Celeibran brand. In smaller numbers, mages among them, identified by their stark black capes. She kept her distance and her dagger closer.

Closing the door behind her after entering the bar was a relief. It was quieter than outside. A pair chatting at the bar, a group playing cards, and a mix of remaining loners and social drinkers. It was less suffocating in here. Less dangerous.

She passed a few swords among the patrons.

Scratch that.

But at least they weren’t soldiers.

Channary took a seat at the bar and began, “Evening, sir. I’m completely famished.” She pulled out two of her silver rectangular coins as payment and slid them across the counter. “Can I have whatever food and drink these can get me?” The man pocketed the coin and nodded. As he moved to the kitchen window, Channary crossed her arms and eyed the people closest to her. The dust and grime they bore with no notice made her relax. She was a mess, but at least so was everyone else. The girl to her right had a long ponytail that reminded her of Lani. She pushed the thought away with a deep breath.

Her drink landed before her with a harsh thud. “Long journey?”

“Never ending,” she replied, grabbing the glass with bold hands. She stared down into the pale gold liquid, her reflection distorted among the foam. Alcohol. She’d never actually had any. If she wasn’t enough an adult before, she was now. Before any further hesitation, she threw her head back and took a deep swig. Her throat burned and she choked. She dropped the glass back down and coughed violently into her hand, liquid dripping down her chin. The bartender let out a deep bellowing laugh. Her face burned as strong as her throat.

“That rough a journey you need to drown yourself?” Despite the bite in his tone, his smile was gentle. Channary wiped her mouth and looked back at her drink. He chuckled and added, “Pace yourself, lass. If you start your night like that, the end will only be worse.”

Channary lowered her head and mumbled into her drink, “Thanks...”

“Any time.” He turned away, grabbing a glass to wash clean. Channary brushed her bangs to the side before grabbing the glass back in her hands. It was gross, but so had been the last few days. The dirt, grime, and dried blood clinging to her hands sickened her more than the drink. A fitting drink for adults, indeed. She picked it up and made another attempt — this time slower, and a smaller sip. It still burned, but not as badly.

“They say the princess is coming here _tomorrow_.”

Channary paused. Her eyes dashed to the couple beside her. She lowered her drink, hovering it above the counter as if afraid to make a sound.

“Yea, I heard,” the man replied, leaning one arm on the counter. “Bold of her, if you ask me. Bold and stupid.”

The woman snorted. “She ain’t been caught yet! Shows how dumb _they_ are if you ask me. Drawing a crowd right under their noses.”

“I’m sorry to cut in,” Channary interrupted, putting down her glass, “but what princess?” Both turned to face her, and now she saw the resemblance between them. Siblings, or twins even.

The woman grinned wider and leaned towards her. “ _Our_ princess, of course!” she whispered, light catching her eye. “The long lost Channary!”

Channary blinked once. Then twice. Her blood ran cold. She was already here. They meant... _her imposter._ She clenched her hand around her drink.

The woman added, “I can tell from your accent you’re one of us, not some Celeibran riffraff.”

“Isn’t she...” Channary couldn’t bring herself to continue. _Dead_. Everyone was supposed to think she was dead. Leilani, Phirun, and the others had worked hard to ensure it. And this...this _cheater_ was abusing that for her own gain!

The woman winked. “Right, that’s what we were told, of course,” she replied with a nod. “Have you really not heard?”

Channary shook her head. “I heard...a rumor, but...”

“Aye, you didn’t believe it? Understandable. But I swear on my mother’s grave, she’s the real deal!” She straightened up and tilted her head up smugly. “She came here before and I got to meet the lady myself.”

“People been passing rumors for years.” Her brother leaned on the counter to see her around his sister. Channary gaped. _Years?_ Is that how long her impostor had been at this? Or... wait. Had people remembered her? Had they hoped for her return even before? A small smile tugged at her lips. The brother continued, “She’s not just talk like the others. She helped rebuild a lot of towns that were damaged in the invasion with her Guardian. Within a day, they say she can turn a wasteland back to glory.” Though his voice was skeptical, his eyes were bright with wonder.

Keeping her smile pinned to her face grew painful. Channary hadn’t done that. No. She definitely hadn’t done _any_ of that, and not with Leilani. Who the hell was this fake? Some kind of saint?

No, just an actor. A damn good deceiving one at that.

“With her Guardian?” Channary said, her mouth dry. “And even the mages didn’t find them?” There was no way that could be true.

The man shrugged. “I know. I found it hard to believe, too.”

“It’d because she’s brilliant!” the sister insisted. She huddled closer to her and lowered her voice, as if telling her a secret. “They don’t get caught because no one knows where to find them. They may be here today, but on the other side of the country by tomorrow. No one else can keep up.”

“That’s...”

“Impossible?” the woman finished. Channary nodded. The sister’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Not with a Guardian. And she has the best there is.”

Channary found herself again at a loss for words. Channary had known powerful Guardians, yet none able to travel so far so swift. And then....if ‘she’ was helping with rebuilding, what was she coming _here_ for? This city hadn’t been as impacted or damaged as other towns in the war, and Celeibra was quite fond of it.

“Why here?” Channary asked.

The woman put a finger to her lips. “If you don’t know, I don’t want to spoil it,” she said. “Southwest square midday tomorrow, you will certainly find out. I’ll be there. Hope to see you as well.” She turned to her brother. “You too, right?”

“If only to keep you out of trouble,” he grumbled.

“I...suppose I must see for myself,” Channary said slowly.

“Excellent!” She grabbed her own drink and held it out to Channary. “To Neluce’s future!” Channary forced a smile and nodded, holding out her own drink. They clinked glasses. “Cheers!” Channary mirrored her long, deep swig. Her muddled thoughts distracted her from the burn.

Who the hell was this impostor?!

***

Locating Decebal was easier than most humans, yet harder than most mages. Human magic always felt...different. Not quite a specific element. A little bit of everything. That he could feel it at all, even at a low level, meant he was recovering. But it was still dismally low and nowhere near enough to teleport again. Probably. Teleportation wasn’t a fire element spell, so Faramund wasn’t confident. Narrowing down which tree, Faramund climbed the circular ramp. He stopped short of a window in one of the more modern structures and rapped his knuckles on the glass.

The curtains were drawn open, revealing the boy’s face. He opened the glass window with a bemused smile.

“You came back,” he said.

“I need you to take me back as soon as possible,” Faramund said with a nod. “Have you healed?”

Decebal rolled up his pant leg and swung his leg over the windowsill. He motioned one hand dramatically towards his ankle. Jagged white scarring encompassed his ankle, contrasting his tanner skin. “I recovered enough magic to heal it some. Doesn’t hurt anymore, but now I got this nasty scar,” Decebal replied. “So thanks a lot.”

Faramund tilted his head to the side. He’d seen worse.

“I hear the opposite sex likes that,” he said.

The boy rolled his eyes and brought his leg back inside, letting his pants fall back over his skin. “Not interested,” he said. “And how would you know anyway?” Faramund didn’t. Not really. It was something he’d heard among the men when he’d served with the Celeibran military for several decades. He shrugged. Decebal sighed and crossed his arms on the windowsill. “I can’t take you home yet and that’s the truth.”

Faramund surveyed what he could see of the town in the dark. “Did you find out where we are?” he asked.

“Ah, yeah. North of the city of Beilan,” Decebal replied. “So we’re in the right direction! Just need to head south.”

He scrambled to remember Neluce’s geography. Faramund’s head tilted to the other side. “That is not the right direction,” he said. “We need to go north.”

Decebal held up a finger and shook his head. “Nope! See, I was thinking while you were off brooding—” (“I wasn’t brooding,” Faramund mumbled.) “—and I think it’s be better if you came with me!”

Faramund narrowed his eyes. “Why would I do that?”

The boy’s eyes lit up as he grinned. Faramund couldn’t resist the way his tawny irises drew him in. The brightness of his expression was compelling, yet the way his heart sped up in response made him uneasy.

“I’m glad you asked!” Decebal said. “I happen to have some friends I’d like you to meet.”

“Friends,” Faramund repeated dryly. “Who are these ‘friends’?”

Decebal stood a little taller and wiggled his shoulders as he proclaimed, “The princess of Neluce herself.”

The princess? The very one Leon wanted removed? Faramund bit the inside of lip.

“Do you know who I am?” Faramund asked.

“Uh... A Guardian named Faramund.” Decebal shrugged. “And important, I guess, since you were in the castle.”

“I’m not _any_ Guardian. I belong to Prince Alcaeus, son of King Theron and Queen Zoe and rulers of the Celeibran empire,” he declared. Decebal hardly bat an eye, but Faramund pressed on. “She is no longer a princess, but a dishonored girl trying to orchestrate an ill-advised rebellion. As an enemy of the monarch, she is an enemy to me. You do realize it is my best interest to kill her, you, and all of your other ‘friends’, do you not?” He raised a brow. “A stupid plan on your part.” Decebal remained unfazed. Faramund frowned. Was he not clear?

“Yeah, I was thinking about that too,” the boy said with a small shrug. “You could have killed me at any point..but you didn’t.”

“I need you to get back to the prince. You’re of no use to me dead.”

“Right. But, before that — at the castle. You saved me instead.”

Faramund huffed. “Celeibra is known for their...strength. Alcaeus disagrees with the effectiveness of that strategy for assimilation into the empire. Our policy is to seek understanding and determine consequences accordingly with a consensus of a council,” he retorted. “I had no intentions of killing you.”

Decebal rested his head on one arm on the windowsill and hummed thoughtfully. “So...by that logic, you can’t kill the princess or any of us either.”

“What?”

“Because you don’t understand what we’re doing or why,” Decebal said. “I mean, I’m sure you all _think_ you do, but you have to know for sure first, right? And then come to an agreement on how to respond? Sounds time consuming. But either way, that means you can’t kill us. At least, not immediately.”

“I...” Faramund stared, stunned. He was right. Technically. Or would have been, had Alcaeus not already made a decision. He cleared his throat. “Well, I am certain an exception to this process has been made given she poses a national threat.”

“‘Has been made’? So you already have an order to kill her?”

Faramund flinched. Well...no. He didn’t. Not yet, anyway. Not for her. But the boy didn’t know that. He glanced away and mumbled, “As I said, a national threat.” He shifted his weight to the other foot and frowned. This wasn’t going the way he’d planned. Why did this feel so unsettling? This boy was the furthest thing from a threat he’d ever met, though easily one of the most baffling humans he’d met. He took a breath and forced himself to stand a little straighter. He said, “You’re taking me north.”

Decebal shook his finger. “Nope. We’re going south.”

“No, we are not.”

“Yes we are.”

Faramund huffed. “Are you not listening to me? I need to return to the prince at once. It’s my duty to protect him. He _needs_ me.”

“Sooo, you _don’t_ care about the princess situation?” he asked. The boy stopped smiling, staring at him with genuine curiosity.

Faramund was taken aback. Of course he cared. But... Alcaeus wanted him back and this boy dead. If the boy was telling the truth, that knowledge was valuable. The head of the rebellion was a larger threat, and eliminating them a bigger victory. One that’d no doubt appease Leon. He felt Decebal’s eyes on him, waiting for his answer. Faramund crossed his arms under his cloak.

“I do,” he confessed. He paused before adding, “But I have my orders, and she is not a priority right now.” To kill the boy and get back. He had to turn this around. Maybe... “If you want me to listen so bad, why don’t you come back to the castle with me? You can talk to the prince yourself. I promise he’ll hear you out.” If he did, it would be a win-win for them both.

“I’m not that dumb,” Decebal said. “ _You_ might not kill me, but I already met ones who weren’t as...” The boy considered his words. He settled on, “considerate.” The playful glint in the Decebal’s eyes returned. “Which is why _you_ should come with _me_.”

“Why do you want me to meet the princess, knowing I wish them dead?”

“I don’t think you like killing,” he said. Faramund “Neither does she. I think you’ll find you actually have a lot in common.”

Faramund narrowed his eyes. Possibly the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. He said, “You’re a fool if you think I’ll betray the crowned prince.”

“I’m not asking you to do that,” Decebal said with a shrug. “I’m just asking you listen to them. Hear them out. Then I’ll take you home to your prince, promise.”

“You’re only asking me to _talk_ to them?”

“Not even talk,” Decebal corrected. “Listen. I mean, you can talk to them if you want, but I’m setting a pretty low bar here. Listen, and no murder. You can do that, right?”

“Of course,” Faramund answered at once, bristling. Was he truly entertaining the notion? God knows how long this could take. “Where are your so-called ‘friends’?”

Decebal zipped across his mouth with his hand. “Can’t tell you.”

Of course not. He had only _vaguely_ told them where they were now, too. Faramund inclined his head. “At the very least tell me how long this _distraction_ will take.”

“Hm...” He rubbed his chin. “Two or three days, tops.”

Faramund sighed and rubbed his forehead. It wasn’t...the worst option. Leon and his father may thirst for blood, but they still played to the rule of politics — and politics were slow. Alcaeus should be safe... for now. Getting the location of the princess would be a better offer, too. Even Alcaeus would have to agree.

He leveled his gaze at the boy. He was dumb, and deserved to know it. Faramund said, “If I agree, you must know there’s a chance I’ll betray you.”

Decebal grinned and said, “You won’t.”

Cocky.

“And you promise to teleport me back to the prince after?” he asked. A reasonable fallback in case he can’t reach Alcaeus with the location himself.

The boy drew his fingers in a cross over his heart and said, “Promise.”

Faramund almost smiled — almost. Maybe he could make this work. Get information, go home, get rid of them. Not a bad plan. Only a slight bend of his orders. Certainly in their favor all things considered.

“Very well,” Faramund said. “I agree.”

Somehow the boy’s smile managed to grow wider. “Great!” He yawned and stretched his arms. “We can leave in the morning. I’m wiped. Night!” That said, he withdrew and closed the window with a thud. One last wave to Faramund, he threw the curtain closed and disappeared. Presumably to bed. Leaving Faramund standing there alone. Outside. In the dark. A light breeze chilled his arms.

He scowled.

He wasn’t even sure why, but he felt insulted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Faramund and Decebal interacting is my favorite thing to do tbh


	6. Chapter 5

# V

Channary’s eyes felt heavy as she rubbed them awake. All night questions had raced through her mind. Her feet strode wearily across the cobblestone. She _needed_ answers. She needed to see this “princess”. Was it someone she used to know? An old family enemy? There were few she could think of who could pull off something like this. Even those felt like long shots. They might not even be alive.

The streets were still bustling, even this early, with a large number were heading the same way. Their accents as they talked among one another put her at ease. Her own people. She followed the crowd, knowing without a doubt who they were heading to meet. As a solider passed the other direction, she darted her head away. Then paused. She glanced back.

Why wasn’t he following the crowd? A crowd this size had to raise suspicion, surely?

She turned her gaze forward and narrowed her eyes. Magic. It had to be. Some kind of illusion or shielding? Then yesterday’s strangers weren’t lying about a Guardian. A water elemental if she had to guess. Channary picked up her pace. She prayed they were at least wrong about their power.

The tighter the crowd grew, the louder it grew. Excited chatter. Nervous whispers. Channary shoved past it all, not apologizing for any bumped elbows or squashed feet. The wide open stage was in her sight. She aimed for a front row view of her newest enemy.

“Good morning, everyone!” a woman’s voice commanded, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. “Thank you so much for coming.” Channary tensed and darted her vision for the speaker.

The answer arrived with a brief flash of light. A woman appeared on stage with a taller man beside her. Her bold red cape framed her body, drawing Channary’s eyes to the spotless white tunic that clung tight against her curves. She wore a black layer underneath that covered her chest and neck. Most of her freckled skin was covered, either with the highly decorated cloth or metal armor. Her strawberry blond hair framed her pale face, pulled back in a loose braid. Blue jewels embedded in her armor sparkled in the sun. Though they shined into Channary’s eyes, she couldn’t look away. The woman’s deep blue eyes shone out at the crowd as she grinned, waving to everyone. They weren’t identical. Fake Channary was taller, bustier, and had darker hair.

But she was gorgeous. As Channary’s eyes darted up and down her whole figure, she swallowed. This impostor wasn’t covered in dirt and blood. She wasn’t exhausted like she was. This woman was dazzling. Her body type was exactly the kind that inspired paintings and sculptures. A thin scar ran down her impostor’s right cheek, but it only enhanced her image. Beautiful and tough. More a goddess than a princess. What people wanted. What Channary _wished_ she was. She clenched her fists.

She spared only a brief look at the man. He dressed similarly, but less impressive, with a hood and mask hiding his face. No doubt the Guardian. How had this woman gotten one? She’d known all their highest nobles and her impostor was not one of them.

“It is so good to see the faces of my comrades. My family,” her impostor began. “For those whom I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting before, let me introduce myself.” She pulled her blade from its elegant sheath and struck it down in front of herself, tilting her chin upwards with a determined gaze across the crowd. “I am Channary Dara Kleina, daughter of Sovanna and Vibol Kleina, and heir — the true heir — to the Nelucian kingdom. I come first to aid those who need it, and secondly to ask your aid in turn.” Her eyes scanned the crowd, meeting any in the crowd she could. “Help us to reclaim our land from our invaders. Help us to build a new Neluce, a _better_ Neluce, so we may live again without fear.” Fake Channary aimed her sword high into the sky, reflecting rays of sunlight around her on the stage.

“Celeibra’s time of playing nice has ended, and they’ve made it clear with every life they’ve ended for the sake of making an _example._ An example to demonstrate they have power, nothing more. We played nice to survive. We’ve kept our heads down. We stayed polite and caused no trouble.” She smirked. “Well, maybe a little trouble.” The crowd laughed. She swung the blade forward, the metal casting light across the awestruck crowd. “We’ve survived, but we’re done being _abused_. I ask for the support of those able and willing. To prove we Nelucians will _not_ be silenced, trampled, and slaughtered. We will speak our language! We will keep our traditions! This is _our_ land, and _our_ country, and we will be proud!” Cheers erupted in time with her sword raising high once more.

Channary eyed the faces of those around her. They _did_ want to be free. They _cared_. They hadn’t yet rolled over in defeat. She swallowed a lump in her throat. But...

Her expression narrowed at the duo atop the platform. The impostor continued to speak, but Channary ignored her words. She watched her bright smile, her graceful steps as she strode around the stage, and the way every person remained captivated. They followed every movement, clung to every word, and took every bit to heart. Channary clenched her jaw. Who _was_ this woman? Despite finding faults in her many freckles and the noticeable scar, she had to admit the woman was _good._

Better than good.

She was perfect. Beautiful, but strong. Compassionate, but decisive. The perfect princess.

A better princess than Channary — and this is the version they loved. She felt a chill as the crowd cheered once more. How long had they been performing this charade? Had Leilani know? Phirun? Had they _let_ this happen? She raised a fist to her mouth and chewed on her thumb’s nail. _She_ was the one who should be up there. _She_ was the one should be rallying the people. She could do it. She would have, too, if anyone had let her.

Would the joy of the people continued if she exposed their fraud? They didn’t deserve to be led by a new group of liars. She tilted her head higher and kept her eyes on her fake. As her impostor continued across the stage, waving to the crowd, for a moment their eyes met. Channary froze, breath caught in her throat. The impostor winked. _Winked._ The moment ended and Channary dropped her fist to her side. Did she recognize her as the real princess? She had to, right? Surely she knew who she was impersonating?

Their speech ended, the duo walked off the stage. Channary regained herself and pushed through the crowd to follow. She had to speak to them. She had to set them straight. She had to make them _stop._

There’s only enough room in this country for one princess, and it’s going to be her.

* * *

Channary managed through most of the crowd before she realized the futility. Nearly everyone _also_ wanted to talk to the pair, forming a line. Well. She could wait. Channary huffed and took her place at the end. It’d be best to confront them with less a crowd anyway, in case things went south. But it gave her time to prepare. She pulled her knife closer and rested her hand on the hilt. She took a deep breath.

Ahead of the crowd, her impostor sat at a table, chatting with the next person in line. Her expressions molded smoothly for each individual and whatever they said, from smiles to empathetic nods. With each person, she seemed to do and say exactly the right thing. Every single one left looking a little bit brighter. Channary tightened her hold on the blade. They were disgustingly good liars. She straightened up and continued to rehearse what she’d say.

Her turn had arrived. She eyed the last person, waiting for them to leave her sight before turning her best glare onto the impostor. The con artist smiled. Channary freed her knife and pointed it forwards. Neither her or her Guardian reacted. Not even flinched.

“You’re not the princess,” she hissed. “You’re lying to these people and should cease these activities at once! I don’t know what you’re hoping to gain — money or power, I suspect — but you’re nothing but criminals!”

Her impostor chuckled and leaned back in her chair. “My, what a claim!” she cheered. “And to be told off by the real princess herself...remarkable.” Channary hesitated, lowering the blade slightly. They knew her? But then why didn’t she recognize them? The fake princess waved a hand in the air lazily. “Of course we know who you are. The common citizen never got to meet you, but it’d be awfully embarrassing on our part if we couldn’t recognize you, don’t you think?” She stood up and met Channary’s gaze. “We did our research. Now, if you please, put your weapon down.”

Channary shifted her weight. “Why should I?”

The woman twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “We don’t want to harm you. Promise. And based on how you’re trembling, I suspect you don’t either.”

Channary glanced down to her hand — it was shaking. Damnnit. She lowered the knife, slowing returning it to its sheath. “Fine,” she said “Let’s talk.”

The woman smiled and motioned to a door behind them. “Yes, let’s.”

Channary surveyed the room as they entered. Simple, plain. It seemed they hadn’t brought many belongings with them. She watched the woman as she closed the door behind them. The man gestured a glowing hand towards the wall. It was so quick she almost missed it. Magic.

“What was that for? Eavesdroppers?” she asked with a raised brow. “You should have done that outside, don’t you think?”

He pulled off his mask, revealing a mischievous smile. As she thought, he was a Guardian after all. His eyes and hair were the same shade of bright blue and his skin near white. She could see a paler blue flowing beneath his skin, tracing the same swirling patterns down his face. A water elemental after all.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” he said. “I put an illusion spell on you before you even reached us. You looked quite mad.” That explained the chill she’d felt, then. Visual illusions was another water element specialty. He didn’t have to look so proud about it, though. Channary scowled and turned back to the woman, who had pulled out a chair at the table and sat cross legged on it. She motioned Channary to take a seat. She didn’t. The Guardian didn’t either. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, watching.

“How did you get a Guardian?” Channary asked. “You’re certainly no noble.” She couldn’t stop staring at the woman’s clothes, jewels still shimmering in the cloth. “Although you certainly dress like one.” She missed wearing beautiful gowns with such colors.

“It’s...complicated,” her impostor replied. “A story for another day, perhaps.”

“Did you steal him?”

The woman laughed. “Assuming straight for the worst? I did no such thing! In fact, he saved my life.” Channary shot a glance to the Guardian.

“What about you, princess? Where’s _your_ Guardian?” he asked. Channary tensed, words caught in her throat. She couldn’t tell them she’d lost her. They probably thought her a fool already. She tilted her chin up.

“Don’t speak to me without permission, Guardian,” she answered.

He smirked and shared a look with his bonded. “A lot brattier than I thought she’d be.”

The woman snorted. “You’re telling me.”

“E-excuse me!” Channary cut in. “I’m _right here!_ ” They shared another look she couldn’t interpret. An entire conversation passed through their eyes that she wasn’t privy to. Finally, her impostor relented and turned back to Channary with a sigh. She threw both legs to rest atop the table.

“Listen, _princess_ , you missed your chance,” she said. “Your time has come and gone. Find yourself a nice little town to live and make a new life for yourself. The sooner you do this, the happier you’ll be. Promise. Leave the politics to those who can actually do it, alright?”

Channary clenched her fists. “H-how...how dare you!” She marched forward and slammed both hands on the table. “You have _no_ idea what I’ve been through!”

The woman’s gaze fell dark. “And you know have no idea what your _people_ have been through,” she replied. “We’re doing what they want their princess to do. If anything, you should be thanking us.”

“Thanking you?!” Channary exploded. “You cannot be serious!”

The Guardian pulled himself from his place along the wall and moved to his bonded’s side, resting a hand on the top of her chair. “While you were off doing god knows what, we’ve been working. We helped rebuild towns, saved families, brought people supplies. We have allies to our cause among peasants, lords, and even the neighboring kingdoms. We’ve organized, planned, and directed every step of this rebellion,” he said. He moved both hands to his hips and smirked. “We’re the ones actually taking back this kingdom. Tell me, princess. What have you done in this time?”

“I...how dare...!” Channary sputtered. She forced a deep breath into her body, willing it to regain a confident composure. It almost worked. “It’s not your kingdom to take!”

“Isn’t it?” the woman asked. She pulled her legs off the table and leaned forward, staring Channary down. “What was it that made it your kingdom in the first place? Nothing but luck and fortune, same as those who took it from you.”

Channary swallowed. “I’ll tell everyone you’re a fraud.” She hated that her voice came out weak, a quivering whisper.

The woman pulled back with a smile. “Go ahead.”

“That’ll hurt you a lot more than us,” the Guardian answered with a shrug.

Channary narrowed her eyes. “Why? What do you mean?”

“We have the same enemy, after all. But unlike you, we’re close to winning. We have a chance. Let’s say people believe you and abandon our cause...there goes everything we worked for. Years of effort and trust down the drain. But you think people will jump straight into your arms after having been fooled once?” He scoffed. “Unlikely. They won’t trust you any better than us. And how long do you think it’ll take to rebuild that confidence to rejoin a rebellion effort? It could be years. Decades, even.”

“At least they’d be following their rightful leader,” Channary said, clenching her jaw.

The Guardian raised a brow. “Not so fast, princess. You’re forgetting something important.”

“Which is?”

“The common people don’t care about you,” he said. The words hit Channary hard. “Or Guardians for that matter. You don’t even have yours. Should I assume she’s dead?” Channary stiffened, blood draining from her face. “You’ve done nothing to help them. Not when you _were_ a princess, and not now. You disappeared. Played dead. We picked your identity for convenience, not because you were _special_. Suddenly announcing yourself won’t build loyalty now. The people owe you nothing. You owe them much more.”

“I...I didn’t disappear.” Channary hugged her arms to her chest. “I had no choice...”

“What Menelaus is trying to say is that it’s all about perception,” the woman said. She interlocked her fingers across her lap. “And you’re too late to change it.”

Channary took a step back, staring at the floor. This was it, then? There was no hope for her future? She was...over? The Guardian, Menelaus, shared another look with his bonded and nodded. They both turned to her with eager eyes and mischievous grins. Channary’s stomach churned.

“Like I said...we have the same enemy,” Menelaus said. “The same goal.” Channary furrowed her brows with uncertainty, frowning. He continued, “It’d be far easier to work together, don’t you think?”

“And let you take the kingdom?!” she protested.

The woman raised her hand. “We’re giving you a great opportunity to ride on the coattails of our success,” she replied. “Enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that. Your objective reached with only a fraction of the effort. That’s the kind of life you’re used to, isn’t it? If you’re as clever as you pretend to be, then you already know your best bet is to _join_ us.” She pushed her braid back behind her shoulder. “You can figure out how to overthrow us later along the way.” She rested her chin atop her interlocked hands, grinning. “Personally, I’d love to see if you’re up for the challenge.”

Channary huffed. They only wanted to use her; she was certain of that. But...what other options did she have?

“I’ll...consider your offer,” she said.

“Excellent.” Her impostor reached out a hand. “I’m Soleil, by the way. But most people call me Sol.” Channary ignored her outstretched hand. Mouth twisted in disgust, she stormed for the door. Sol called after her, “You know where to find us when you change your mind!”

Channary slammed the door behind her.

Menelaus yawned. “So obnoxious,” he lamented. He mocked her tone of voice as he whined, “ _‘It’s_ my _kingdom!’_ ” He rolled his eyes. “Please...who even cares?”

Sol leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Now, now...she’ll come around,” she said. “You’re not thinking I’ll just hand it all over to her, are you?”

He put his mask back over his face. “Of course not,” he said. “But I don’t like the idea of having to drag around another body. She’ll only hinder us. Besides, her lack of a Guardian is also...concerning.”

“She could be useful.”

“I doubt it.” Menelaus patted the top of her head. “But c’mon. Princess or no, we have work to do. You have a grand appearance to make at the mayor’s mansion, don’t you?” He held out a hand. Sol grinned and took it, letting him pull her up out of her chair.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Channary. Her first thoughts when meeting her impostor are "oh no, she's hot."


End file.
